There's just something about Jack Nicholson that puts me on edge. Maybe I'm having flashbacks from The Shining, but every time he's on screen, better yet, every time I hear his voice I just expect someone to come swinging around the corner with a hatchet. This segways to the idea that some actors play roles, and some actors play themselves. I'm sorry, but I'll never remember the main character from Chinatown, that's not John Gillies, Tom Guittles, James Guilles, he's simply Jack Nicholson, albeit a very young and oddly attractive version of his irrepressible self.
My second topic for discussion if how Faye Dunaway can take a slap. The amped up emotion in that thirty seconds alone was enough to make me squirm in my seat. "My mother!" SLAP, "My sister!" SLAP, "My daughter." SLAP, SLAP, "My third cousin, twice removed..." Not only did I see that coming, I didn't even see the end of the scene, as I was to busy buried under my notebook, plugging my eyes, and cursing those who promised me this was one of the films where Jack Nicholson didn't go crazy.
Overall, it was... kind of depressing. The corrupt remained corrupt, the hero didn't really get a chance to be heroic, and the last image that really stood out in my mind was the creepy father (slash grandfather?) with the wire rimmed glasses soothing his daughter (slash granddaughter?), and my soothing I mean cupping his hand over her mouth so that no sound can escape.
Chinatown I have discovered is not a very good place to be if you're there for other reasons than the firecrackers, food, and all over cultural splendor. It's a metaphor for all the dirty deeds that play out right under the civilians noses. (Unless of course you're involved and then so is your nose, cue to nostril splicing scene.)
My second topic for discussion if how Faye Dunaway can take a slap. The amped up emotion in that thirty seconds alone was enough to make me squirm in my seat. "My mother!" SLAP, "My sister!" SLAP, "My daughter." SLAP, SLAP, "My third cousin, twice removed..." Not only did I see that coming, I didn't even see the end of the scene, as I was to busy buried under my notebook, plugging my eyes, and cursing those who promised me this was one of the films where Jack Nicholson didn't go crazy.
Overall, it was... kind of depressing. The corrupt remained corrupt, the hero didn't really get a chance to be heroic, and the last image that really stood out in my mind was the creepy father (slash grandfather?) with the wire rimmed glasses soothing his daughter (slash granddaughter?), and my soothing I mean cupping his hand over her mouth so that no sound can escape.
Chinatown I have discovered is not a very good place to be if you're there for other reasons than the firecrackers, food, and all over cultural splendor. It's a metaphor for all the dirty deeds that play out right under the civilians noses. (Unless of course you're involved and then so is your nose, cue to nostril splicing scene.)